For the first time, her misty blue eyes slip to me and she smiles sadly. “I needed to get to the truck so I could cry.”
“Because you hate the tattoo?”
Her smile widens, big tears pooling in her eyes. “No. Because I love it so much—and I’m so proud of myself for getting it. Thank you for making this happen, Will.”
I expel a breath as the tension in my shoulders releases. So this wasn’t a bad thing for Annie after all? In fact, it was good. I want to dive further into that logic but decide it’s not safe. I might come to conclusions in the end that I shouldn’t.
I put my hand against Annie’s jaw and chuckle, wiping the tear from her cheek. “I would have committed murder for you just now.”
“I do appreciate it,” she says with a laugh too.
We’re both laughing and she’s crying and I’ve never experienced this kind of emotion with anyone else. It’s so fragile and vulnerable. I feel guilty that I’m the one who gets to experience it with her. And yet I’m greedy for it at the same time.
“Can I see it now?” I ask, dropping my gaze to her wrist. But there’s nothing there.
She nods and adjusts a little away for me in her seat, gathering all of her long hair and tugging it over one shoulder. And then my breath catches as she tugs the neck of her shirt down, revealing her beautiful bare shoulder.
Well…her bare shoulder inked with the cutest small tattoo I’ve ever seen.
“I got a book,” she says, sounding like she just won a million dollars. “I was going to get the flowers we talked about, but then I realized flowers were always my mom’s dream—not especially mine even though following it has worked out nicely for me.” She pauses and I admire the fine lines of a book, lying open with its pages fluttering like the wind caught them. “I wanted something special to me. Just me.”
I smile at the sight of Annie poised with her shoulder presented to me—the profile silhouetted by the streetlamp outside the truck. And her soft mouth curled up in a gentle smile. I’ll never forget this moment. And before I can stop myself, I tip forward and kiss the skin just beside her tattoo. Annie sucks in a breath, and I memorize the feel of her skin against my lips, as smooth and blazing as a shot of expensive whiskey. I want to kiss every square inch of her. I want to lick the base of her shoulder. I want to kiss my way up the side of her throat all the way until I find her mouth, and there I’ll linger, caressing so thoroughly that our lips sting afterward.
If I had it my way, I’d pull this warm, sweet, tenderhearted woman over onto my lap and show her just how in awe of her I am. I would worship her body.
Instead, I pull away and gently pull her shirt back up over her shoulder. “It’s perfect, Annie.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Will
I’m at the farmers market today and I’m not happy about it for two reasons. First, there are so many people. These sorts of places—open-air venues with endless numbers of entrances and exits—are my nightmare. Tickets aren’t required, so I have no way of checking everyone in attendance to make sure none of Amelia’s stalkers will be here. But I have their faces memorized and survey everywhere we go for any signs of them. She’s wearing a hat and sunglasses, as is Noah, but obsessive fans will still know it’s her. In fact, there’s a man with a backpack eight feet to her right. He’s noticed her three times now. Even if no one is here to do her harm, these sorts of crowded locations can turn into a fan mob in a second if we’re not careful.
I don’t like the guy with the backpack.
The second reason I don’t want to be here is because Annie is working a booth for her flower shop. It’s the whole reason Amelia wanted to come out and support her, and that woman is the distraction I don’t need today. And I mean that in the current literal sense, and the metaphorical long-term sense.
I’m using all of my willpower to focus on my job right now, and it’s torture. Just like every second when Annie is anywhere near me lately. I’ve only seen her once since she got her tattoo. Amelia and I were in town, and while she was visiting with Noah at The Pie Shop, I dipped into the flower shop next door to see Annie. Her eyes lit up when she realized it was me, and now I’m afraid I’ll replay that image on a loop for the rest of my life.
I’m trying to put her in the same category as all the other women who have moved like water through my life. But it’s not working. She’s quickly becoming special to me—like something rare and precious you want to put in a safe place so you never lose it.